I’m feeling childish today.
I’ve got my pink socks ankle high.
I’m wearing platform boots to add an inch of height.
My belt sparkles when in contact with a ray of light.
I just set up my camera, everyone, watch me shine.
I’d play music and dance in the rain at night.
It’s a beautiful distraction from the lows of life.
I met a girl today, she said hi and smiled.
I’ll remember it when it’s time to sit and cry.
It’s sundown again, and the darkness creeps in.
No rain today, so I put on shades.
Can’t let anyone see the red in my eyes.
The music will carry me through — when I listen, time flies.
I’m not secure enough to open up to people.
I usually wait it out, till the feeling is neutral,
till it’s grey lights and auditory exclusions,
till it’s headaches, numbness, and seclusion.
I can’t remember what a heartbeat feels like.
I can’t remember what I want to feel like.
Once a while, when I’m feeling childish,
I act out emotions, like a ‘print and publish.’
when i was a girl
my mum smoked cigarettes
in her leopard print dressing gown
and boot slippers
she would come in from the patio, or the kitchen, or the garden
and up the stairs to tuck me into bed
stroke her hand across my head
chestnut curls from out of my face
the smell of the nicotine on her fingers
lingered in the air
attaching itself to the memory,
to the place
now i am a woman
and i smoke cigarettes
in my leopard print dressing gown
and my boot slippers
and when i come in from the patio, or the kitchen, or the garden
and up the stairs to tuck myself into bed
i stroke my hand across my head
maroon curls from out of my face
and as the smell of the nicotine lingers in the air
i remember when i was a girl
when my mum still smoked cigarettes
and wore her leopard print dressing gown
still wore her boot slippers
still tucked me into bed
In younger days we booked a trip
And never gave a thought
To reasons we might cancel
And what refunds would be sought.
We rarely took insurance,
Health was not a big concern
And we never worried ‘bout the need
To suddenly return.
But age has made us cautious;
Carefree travel makes no sense
And by reading all the fine print,
Suddenly I’m on the fence.
Do we take a chance and go
Because our time is ticking fast
Or get stuck in the minutiae
‘Til the options have all passed?
He was deeply worried,
A problem lay within,
Buried in the depths of his heart,
Countless slaves in his possession.
He wanted to control
All of them, he needed
A unique identity for each.
Suddenly, he struck upon
The idea of a fingerprint.
deportation statements during time
observe pulitzer worthy escape by decree ego
overlap
deportation of "homeless immigrants"
census fraud
is not a measure of goverment in california
re segregated aggregated data is not a constitutional law
being held
deportation hmis
creation of absence ballots in population control ownership agenda's
A leprechaun, to me, proposed,
at my service, to be disposed.
He'd one more thing to say
as he jetted away.
I must catch him first, he disclosed.
You can print more money
By Michelle Morris
27/01/2024
You can print more money
But you can't print more people
Souls do goodness
To ward off evil
You can print more money
But it is only a tool
Souls don't need it
Because Heaven rules
© Michelle Morris, 2024
I'm getting older
my eyes don't work as they should
spectacles needed
If you want to sign up for the Jupiter mission
Here is the catch: you have to be serious.
And you have to have $100,000 you are willing to lose
Because if the space ship blows up,
Or if the expedition is cancelled,
Of if the sponsor takes the money,
There are no refunds.
Only two people signed up.
A mother and son.
Who could not read the small print
Where all of this stupidity was printed.
Money that stores our working hours
Free from the theft of looting powers
Children happy - living carefree
This is the future I want to see
Safe, protected property rights
Long term planning in our sights
A country we don’t have to flee
This is the future I want to see
Honest leaders who give a care
Willing to serve, without fanfare
Living humbly like you and me
This is the future I want to see
Holding value for decades hence
Simply saving with common sense
Speaking boldly - living free
This is the future I want to see
Abundance flowing everywhere
Because the money’s true and rare
Bitcoin’s the answer, Bitcoin’s the key
To build this future we want to see
What are these lines? that are drawn on my palm
what significance do they carry ?
why are there contours on my fingers
and why do they vary ?
I hear people call them finger prints,
and heard them say they are different for all .
They signify my uniqueness and all that I am made of.
But for me these are the love lines of God ,
which He inscripted on my palm .
Reminding me of my uniqueness ,
of His concern and His love.
It conveys me of how wonderfully,
I am made and that there is no one else like me ,
who in my Father's eyes is the same .
These fingerprints are my love letter that I read
every day ,reminding me of a love story that always will remain .
Stop and smell the roses even if they aren't there
Stop and smell the flowers even if they are dead or bear
Stop and smell the roses because each petal has a different scent and every curve is a masterpiece, like a Renaissance painting
Pass by a rose and you may miss a lifetime
Pass by a daisy and you may lose your smile
Pass by a sunflower and your nightmares could start to become a sad reality
Appreciate what you take for granted or your heart will hibernate instead of bloom
There's a simplistic complexity that is painted to the curves of every rose
How can something so small hold so much beauty
When you can answer this you're eyes can truly see, your heart will smell grace, your ears can feel the future
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so what do you let your eyes hold
Whatever it is, remember before you get too old
Enjoy the event of a white rose
p.s. don't let the world distract you from the paintings on the petals...
A view of the ocean of print
On the night sky over Australia, among thousands of stars
the dog of hell appeared, killing the Aboriginal men
but a woman of the tribe slaughtered the dog, the men
were spared, as the legend says.
A beautiful story if not told right, but the dream is true.
Is London becoming a murder capital of the West?
The article had the face of black youth; surely an incident
or is the writer trying to tell us something?
The newspaper relates news from the Ukraine war and tells
of a new long-range rocket capable of killing many Russians
A war blended with facts and downright lies to be expected
as we take sides in this conflict.
On a lighter note, the European Song Contest is upon us
I will continue not watching this colossal embarrassment
over this gay parade.
A sad note from the USA, where school shooting has become
A new war zone where the mad has the right to wear arms.
This just in,
earth is careening toward an asterisk,
speeding toward a footnote,
alien podiatrists are monitoring.
Elephants have moved in-land
refusing interviews to the press.
In other news,
sinkholes have been rescued
from children’s ears.
Cyclonic swirls of pelicans
have created a weather front
scientists are stumped.
Excuses from discredited experts
have been spotted
escaping back to Beijing.
Nothing may actually be true
except for the asterisks,
these random star-shaped symbols
are always a tease, a risk,
Someone might misinterpret them,
call them misinformation.
The thief leaves his imprint on the door handle or pane of glass
And he takes your precious treasures and stuffs them in a bag
A child's xbox, your ring of engagement and sells them
They are never seen again and the loss
And a power leaps into his world ,stops him
There is no choice and his imprint changes
He now leaves the same image of goodness
Goes to work, helps the homeless and goes home to love ones
The imprint now is left on souls
The Power slowly and seductively changes him and once again stops him
She slowly and secretly undoes the tie
Her hair falls and his heart leaps as she waits
The warmth catches In his throat and he bows
Thank you as he touches her face and a wisp of hair grazes his lips
Dusting his heart for prints of his past ,his mind leaps to the winds
A refreshing breeze carries the thought to where they go
The lost ring is there and the heart
Can one ever be forgiven to the last full measure
The yard stick takes his prints one last time
She slowly undresses and his mind catches up
The thief steals and touches her lips
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